


The Dornishman's Wife

by cortchuzska



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-11
Updated: 2018-06-11
Packaged: 2019-05-20 23:02:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14903838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cortchuzska/pseuds/cortchuzska
Summary: Joffrey telling a dirty joke to Tywin; is there anything worse?





	The Dornishman's Wife

The King plucked at the golden lion heads studding his doublet; by rights it should have been stags, but antlers were prone to get stuck into his cuffs trimmings.

He swallowed a yawn: counting coppers, so his father had called all the wearisome duties a crowned head was embroiled with.

“Now, if Your Grace would listen...”

Joffrey snatched the warrant his great uncle was finally done dusting and busied himself with flourishing a signature which took most of the sheet.

“Spare me your trifles.” As if he had the whole day: the Seven Kingdoms were overridden with Freys as it was: Tully or Bolton, Lannister and Stark, why care into which House they married? Gossips good for has-beens without anything better to do with their empty days.

Speaking of wedding, even if he was not the one meeting the Dornish it would have been a pity to let a perfectly good jape go to waste. They were half-savages and welcoming them in person was below his dignity, but truly, it would have been more amusing than sitting in the Hand's solar and listening codgers blabbering while his uncle Imp was having all the fun.

“Do you know how many Dornishmen...”

Tywin Lannister's brow quirked, as he picked another sheet from the pile before him. “You will speak no such words before the Prince, nor in his retinue hearing.”

“A King does what he wants.” Joffrey pointed out.

Tywin set down his quill and countered icily. “A true King commands respect.”

To that, Joffrey had to agree. All the same, he insisted. “In the Reach everyone poke fun at the Dornish, and this one is quite ...” Joffrey snickered.

Kevan Lannister broke in with a mild smile. “I am glad to hear Your Grace enjoys his time with Lady Margaery and her attendance.”

His grandfather had a stick up his arse, but his younger brother always laughed at Lord Mace's jests, even the lamest, so he graciously beckoned him closer.

“That's not fit for ladies.” Just snickering that at his great-uncle's ear made him feel a man grown. “Not in the least.”

Joffrey began whistling, then realized the tune was giving away the game, and went on as if speaking to Kevan only, yet loud enough to make sure Lord Tywin would hear. “How many men does it take for a Dornish marriage?”

This time, his grandfather's head shot up, bestowing Joffrey all the attention he was owed. “You did not hear such filth from any of Margaery's ladies.”

Was the old man deaf? “Of course not: I had it from the Tyrells' stableboys.” Joffrey replied boldly: trading bawdy stories among themselves, that was what real men did.

“ _ Stablehands.”  _ Tywin repeated, and his mouth thin line conveyed all his disgust. “Since when do kings associate with base born scum?”

His grandfather was indeed a man of the past, Hand to the Mad King for too many years: such had been the Targaryens' haughtiness, who considered themselves above everyone else and ruled from atop their dragons. Nowadays time were a-changing; his own father, King Robert, had toppled them and would make merry with the smallfolk in their own taverns every now and then. Even Margaery had said something he couldn't quite place, but who did bother with the blathering of women? He knew by himself how good the crowd cheers felt.

“How does Your Grace wish to be remembered in the Seven Kingdoms annals?” Lord Tywin put an end his musing.

Now, a matter well worth considering. Joffrey sighed: that was the problem with old men, it took them like forever to get to the point. All the good names had already been taken, and anyway they only sketched a side of greatness, never encompassing the whole of it. Joffrey the Great, that would be his appellation. His father had defeated the Mad King, and overthrown the Targaryens: no small feats, but he had just bested five kings at once! King Robert would have been proud of his son.

“Can Your Grace recall how my own father, the former Lord of Casterly Rock, was called?” His Lord grandfather rambled on.

“Should I? Footnotes about past lordlings are Pycelle's job.”

“The Laughing Lion.” Kevan offered. “A man fond of jokes, he was.”

Joffrey shrugged. “Had he done anything important, I would surely remember.”

“A name best forgotten, to be sure. Laughter is the death of respect: my father was a disgrace to House Lannister he nearly drove to an end.” Tywin fixed his gaze on his grandson. “If it is laughter you want to command, Your Grace's crown is no better than a fool's cap. “


End file.
